


07/27/2018

by fucking_milkovich, orange_army_boy



Series: • IAN + MICKEY • [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Cum Play, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sex, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fucking_milkovich/pseuds/fucking_milkovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_army_boy/pseuds/orange_army_boy
Summary: Ian just wants to get to work on time for once.Or does he?A snapshot from the Instagram accounts of@orange.army.boyand@fucking.milkovich





	1. Morning

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/163025614@N07/43913767201/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 

**6:34**

Ian was doing his best to move stealthily around the darkened bedroom as he quickly scrambled to finish getting ready for work.

After waking shortly before five (pill time) to the feel of Mickey wrapped snuggly around his back like a baby koala, Ian found that he’d been utterly powerless to do anything but press back into that warmth and ignore the buzz of his second alarm some twenty minutes later (run time). Foolishly he’d then also hit snooze (twice) when his third alarm had started its incessant barrage (haul ass to work time), and now Ian would be lucky if he could do more than grab a quick bite of toast as he rushed out the front door.

He was at that moment quietly trying to piece together his uniform from where it was strewn about the room, when suddenly his foot caught one of Yev’s toys that was partially hidden beneath a pair of Mickey’s boxers, and he let fly a string of curses that would’ve made even his foulmouthed older brother blush. Ian squeezed his eyes closed and froze in place, clamping his lips tightly shut and waiting for the fallout, but the sound of Mickey’s faint snores only quieted for a second and then continued on as before. Mickey typically slept like the dead – Ian thought of it as an evolutionary adaption they had both developed from growing up around gunfire and blaring sirens and screaming siblings – but if Mickey was startled awake suddenly he still had a tendency to lash out. They were working on it.

Ian let out the breath he had been holding and continued hobbling around the room so he could finish getting dressed, trying to ignore the throbbing in his foot and on the lookout for any more of Yev’s strategically placed Fisher-Price IED’s.

He liberated a pair of socks from Mickey’s pile of clean laundry, slipped his wallet out of last night’s jeans, and tiptoed around the bed to collect the spare change from the top of the dresser so he’d be able to get his usual Code Red Mountain Dew from the vending machine at work when he needed his caffeine kick later that day. Finally, Ian grabbed his watch, and as he fastened it turned to take in the sight of his very naked husband just as sunlight started to seep through the window and illuminate the room.

It was a beautiful scene. All pale, smooth skin, perfectly curved and cut muscles, the early morning light just starting to catch the fine hairs on the back of Mickey’s thick thighs. He was sprawled out on his stomach with his head turned to the side – his usual position when he had the bed to himself – back rising and falling with his deep, even breaths, air whistling softly through slightly parted lips, face looking completely at peace.

Completely free.

Ian looked at his husband longingly, soaked in his perfect, naked form, wished not for the first time that he could pick up a pencil or a paintbrush and capture the moment the way he knew Mickey would be able to. Trace the straight line of his nose and the sharp cut of his jaw. Recreate the perfect curve of his ass…

**6:39**

Ian felt his dick twitch and start to stir inside his pants and he groaned softly, eyes automatically flickering over to the clock on the bedside table. He hated the thought of leaving the sight before him to go to work, knowing he’d not be able to see (smell, touch, taste) Mickey again for at least the next ten hours.

Ian shifted on his feet and rearranged himself within his starchy pants, trying to stem the sudden flow of blood headed south before it snowballed from an innocent twitch into a fully hard, full-blown problem. He knew if he didn’t he’d without a doubt be late, and if he was late Sue would without a doubt give him shit all day about it.

Since they’d gotten partnered up Ian had probably tried to run every gambit in the book on her at least twice. _There was a delay on the L. He couldn’t find his fucking ID badge! Yev was sick and he just couldn’t leave until he’d helped get him down for a nap._ Ian always felt especially guilty when he involved their son in one of his lies, but really it didn’t much matter since Sue had stopped believing his bullshit a long time ago. She knew that nine times out of ten Ian was late because he had a hard time – literally – leaving Mickey.

Knew it by the hazy, _just fucked_ look in his eye when he rushed in for his morning shifts, and when he arrived five minutes late for his evening shifts, and always, _always_ when he was skidding through the door for one of his doubles. Knew it by the mussed up, _just fucked_ hair that he never had time to style back into place. By the fresh, _just fucked_ marks that Mickey would leave on his skin and which could, at best, only be partially covered by Ian’s uniform, the light blue collar never quite high enough to completely hide his husband’s claim.

**6:40**

An image of Sue’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips flashed through Ian’s mind, but compared to the picture of Mickey’s inviting, perfect, delectable ass right in front of him – well it was hardly a fair fight. Ian was damn good at his job and took his work very seriously, but sometimes, in his more poetic moments (Mickey would say “creepy”), he liked to think that his husband’s ass was his true calling, and fuck if it wasn’t calling out to him right then. Pulling at him like a magnet, easily dragging Ian toward it as if he was nothing but a feather light scrap of aluminum. 

**6:41**

Right now Ian was fighting that force, fighting against giving in the way he was aching to. _Sue. Pursed lips. An already embarrassingly thick personnel file._ He couldn’t be late for work. He just couldn’t. Not again.

**6:41**

Ok maybe he couldn’t give in completely, not the way he wanted to, but he could steal a quick peck that would help tie him over till later that night, couldn’t he? Just one soft press of lips against that delicious ass. Mickey wouldn’t even wake up. Then he’d turn and walk right away. Just an innocent nip, maybe. One on each cheek. Yeah, he had enough control for that. He wasn’t some sort of fucking animal! Just a quick kiss, two nips and a lick, then he’d be right out the door…

Without realizing, Ian had moved from his place beside the dresser to the foot of the bed and already had one knee pressed into the mattress when Mickey suddenly stirred, jolting Ian from his ass trance and causing him to jump away from the bed guilty.

**6:42**

_Fuckfuckfuckfuck._ He had to go.

Mickey lifted his head and turned to look up at Ian, sleepy eyes squinting against the early morning rays trying to sneak in through the shaded windows.

“Whaddya doing, Freckles? Fuckin’ creepin’?” Mickey’s voice was low and raspy from sleep, but his knowing tone made Ian think he’d been awake longer than he’d let on. 

“Not creeping, Mick. Just heading out for my shift. Sorry I woke you.”

He was making a good show of patting down all of his pockets, glancing around the room like he’d been in the middle of double checking he hadn’t forgotten anything, and not just standing there in a daze with his eyes laser locked on Mickey’s ass for the past several minutes. It was a good thing too. He noticed his ID badge still sitting on his nightstand. He could feel Mickey’s eyes following him as he moved quickly around the bed to retrieve it.

“Mmm, well all of me’s awake now, man,” Mickey hummed. “Why don’t ya help me take care of this ‘fore you go?” Ian foolishly glanced over as Mickey rolled onto his back, stretching his hands up to cradle his head and presenting his impressive morning wood in all its glory.

Desire licked hotly at Ian’s insides – Mickey’s cock was lying up against his belly looking hard and full and fucking ready – but Ian kept his feet rooted firmly in place, proudly acknowledging, as he fumbled (and ultimately failed) to clip his ID to the front of his shirt, that he didn’t move any closer to the bed. (He also didn’t move any further away, but _Christ_ , he was only human.) Ian huffed his annoyance and roughly shoved his laminated badge in his pocket to deal with later.

 Mickey meanwhile only seemed amused by Ian’s fluster. He eyed Ian’s obvious arousal and smirked, no doubt sussing out exactly how hard it would be to get what he wanted, and finding he was more than satisfied by the answer. _Bastard._

“Come on Gallagher, whaddya say?” He licked his lips slow and deliberately, dragging his eyes up Ian’s body at a languid pace. “Help a guy out…” Hooded blue eyes locked with Ian’s. “…husband.”

 _Fuck._  

Even with half the blood from his brain diverted elsewhere Ian wasn’t stupid. Ian knew Mickey was baiting him. He knew that Mickey was perfectly aware what it did to him whenever he branded Ian with that term. 

_Husband._

It meant ownership. It meant forever. It meant Mickey was saying _MINE_ and Ian couldn’t fucking hear that enough. Call it a classic case of middle-child syndrome. A product of playing the part of dirty little mistress more times than he cared to remember. Of having to spend most of his teenage years sneaking around with Mickey and hiding what they were. He usually didn’t stop long enough to analyze it. Ian just knew that word did things to him, made him feel electrified from head to toe as that claim buzzed throughout his whole entire body. 

 _Husband_.

Mickey fucking knew what that word did to him, and right now he was wielding it like a goddamn bargaining chip in a high-stakes hostage situation. And fuck if he didn’t already have those hostages halfway to safety.

Ian tried to steel himself, refusing to look anywhere but at Mickey’s face in an effort to reclaim some measure of control. He fixed Mickey with a look that said he knew exactly what he was trying to do, but Mickey’s smirk only grew, and Ian’s traitorous eyes followed along transfixed as he brought a hand out from behind his head and trailed it slowly down his chest. Watched as Mickey wrapped his fingers loosely around his stiff cock and started to stroke himself, up and down, slowly and purposefully. Glanced back up to Mickey’s face. To his tongue wetting his lips, to his dark eyes still on him, to his eyebrows rising in question.

Flickered to the green glow of the clock blinking back at him reproachfully

**6:44**

Ian’s eyes turned back to Mickey and he stuttered out a breathy curse.

“Hmmm?” Mickey hummed, biting his lip.

“Fuck, Mick.” Ian took a halting step away from the bed and it felt like it cost him every bit of strength he had. “I gotta–“ Mickey ran his thumb over his slit and it came away wet. “– _fuck_. I gotta go. Already gonna be late...”

“Wastin’ precious time then, Firecrotch.”

Mickey spread his precum along his length and Ian felt his mouth go dry. Desperate now, he squeezed his eyes shut as if he thought that would help and backed away another few feet toward safety.

“Mick, I gotta get to work,” he choked out. “Sue’s gonna have my ass, seriously.”

“Seriously, huh? Sounds tough.” Ian heard a hitch in Mickey’s voice and his eyes flew back open. He had scooted further up the bed and was now using his other hand to run lazily up and down his stomach and chest. ”How ‘bout you have my ass instead, hmm?” Mickey bit his lip again and moaned softly as his wandering hand paused to rub at a nipple. 

**6:45**

Ian groaned and palmed himself roughly. “Goddammit Mickey, I gotta fucking go,” he bit out, taking one last longing look and then tearing his eyes away. He moved quickly to the dresser to grab his keys and already had his free hand on the doorknob when Mickey’s breathy gasp stopped him in his tracks.

“Fuck, _Ian_ …” 

Ian let his forehead fall heavily against the bedroom door and sighed, knowing before he even turned that it was over. He knew it before Mickey had stirred awake. Before he’d spent minutes staring at Mickey’s ass, trying to fight that magnetic pull. Knew it the second he’d stayed in bed and ignored that second alarm. Knows every time. Where Mickey’s concerned, it’s over before it even starts.

Ian dropped his hand from the doorknob and turned to find Mickey sitting fully up against the headboard, his knees bent and spread open wide, feet flat on the bed. His one hand, bearing the crude F-U-C-K, was still grasping and pulling and twisting at his leaking cock, while the index and middle fingers of his other hand were already pushed deep inside his tight hole – probably too tight for no lube, but Mickey was pumping them in and out with a sort of single-minded determination. He was breathing hard, moving his body in time with the push and pull of his hand and the thrust and twist of his fingers, but it was his eyes that Ian couldn’t look away from. His pupils were blown and his eyelids kept fluttering partially closed, but his gaze never left Ian’s face. He didn’t need to say it for Ian to hear him loud and clear. _Either I’m getting off or we both are; either way, you’re not going anywhere_.

“Oh my god…” Ian groaned. It was all really too much, the entire scene that was playing out before him. He was so painfully hard that he didn’t even try to stop his hand from stroking himself through his pants.

“So tight, Ian. Feels so good… _so_ fucking tight. You really gonna leave me like this?”

Ian was making one last token show of resistance. It was pathetic. It was futile. They both knew it.

“Mmm, imagine you fucking your big cock into this. Fuck, you’d stretch me so good…” Mickey practically keened as he pushed a third tattooed finger inside his ass, biting down hard on his bottom lip. “Can be quick. We’re both ready. Oh fuck yeah, I’m ready for that cock… _god, Ian_ …you ready?” And then the final nail in his coffin. “Need your help, baby.”

“Jesus _fuck_ , Mickey.”

Ian was across the room and tearing off his shirt before he’d even finished getting the words out. He furiously worked open his belt and tore at his pants, pushing them down just enough so he could pull himself out. “Turn over,” he ordered gruffly, spitting obscenely into his hand.

With a low husky hum and a smug smile that set off an inferno at Ian’s very core, Mickey got onto all fours and braced himself on the mattress, presenting his perfect ass to the now fired up redhead. 

Ian climbed quickly up on the bed and shuffled forward on his knees, getting himself spit slicked and lined up with Mickey’s entrance. He gripped Mickey’s hip tight in one hand and used the other to drag the head of his cock over Mickey’s hole, groaning at the sight, at the feel. Groaning in frustration for giving in so easily. Again. _Always_.

Without warning he released his bruising grip on Mickey’s hip and brought his hand up and swiftly back down, slapping the perfect peach shaped curve of Mickey’s left cheek.

“Fuck, Gallagher!” Mickey turned his head to look back at him, his forehead furrowed but his eyes bright with excitement. “You pissed, baby?” He was rocking his hips slightly, still trying to tease him. “Mmm, take that and fuck me with it. Fucking pound–”

Ian didn’t let him finish. He quickly pressed the head of his cock past Mickey’s rim and slammed in with a frenzied fervor. Mickey dropped down to his elbows and bowed his head all the way to the bed, unable to lift back up because Ian immediately started pounding into him relentlessly. Ian pressed down on the small of Mickey’s back and returned his other hand to his hip, the silence in the room the next few minutes broken only by their harsh grunts and the slapping sound of their bodies coming together over and over.  

Ian looked down at where they were connected and already felt close, but he didn’t let up his punishing pace. He kept pulling his cock nearly all the way out until he could see the ridge of its head, only to then slam it all the way back in. _God_ he was so close.

He leaned over, and as he continued driving into Mickey’s ass, brought a hand around his throat, pulling him up and flush against his chest, his other arm wrapping around Mickey’s body and holding him tight like a seatbelt. Mickey immediately arched his back and let out a guttural shout that seemed to stem from deep within him and build force as it made its way out of his body. Ian knew that the change in position had brought his cock right to that magic spot; that bundle of nerves that never failed to turn Mickey into a quivering wreck.

“Fuck, Ian! _Fuck_. Right there! So– feel so fucking good...”

Ian couldn’t stay silent any longer either. When Mickey dropped his head back to rest on his shoulder Ian pressed his lips to the side of Mickey’s neck and breathed the words directly into his skin. “Jesus, Mickey. You fucking…fucking do this to me…every time…” he panted hoarsely between his thrusts. “Fucking _so_ tight. Feel so fucking perfect, Mickey.”

“M’close. Come on, Ian. Fuck. Right there…just…”

“Touch yourself for me, Mick.”

Mickey punched out a strained moan and slumped forward against the arm Ian was holding fast against his chest. He knew Mickey was pulling roughly at his cock. He knew neither of them would last more than a minute longer. He loosened his hold on Mickey and let him fall back down to the bed where he held himself up with one arm as his other hand continued to pump away. Ian slid his own hand from around Mickey’s throat and straightened up, grabbing tightly at Mickey’s hips and pulling him back to meet his every thrust, his thumbs pressing deeply into the top of Mickey’s ass.

“Fucking ass takes my cock so good, Mickey. Looks so fucking good…fucking– _Christ,_ Mick…that perfect fucking ass...”

“Yes Ian…good…so good, Ian…there…”

Ian’s eyes drifted down to Mickey’s left cheek where a perfect, red impression of his hand had already blossomed on Mickey’s pale skin, and in that moment he knew exactly what he wanted to do, knew what they both needed. Cutting Mickey off in mid-gibberish, Ian gave Mickey’s left hip a quick squeeze and then lifted his hand and smacked it down hard on the same spot as before. Upon connection, Mickey’s whole body spasmed and he released his seed all over the bed with a choked grunt. Ian held onto Mickey’s marked cheek for a second longer, pumping once, twice, and then following him over the edge, hoarsely crying out Mickey’s name as he stilled his hips and spilled deep inside him. 

Mickey’s head was dropped down on the bed, his hole clenching weakly around Ian’s spent cock and the rest of his body trembling slightly every time an aftershock ran through him. Ian rubbed soothing hands along Mickey’s lower back, eyes closed but pointed up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. Distantly he was aware that when he’d gotten out of bed that morning he’d been in some sort of hurry, but he couldn’t even spare a single fuck about that right now.

Once he got a handle on his breathing he looked back down at Mickey. He had the side of his face pressed against the mattress again, his eyes closed and his features soft, all the muscles in his neck and back relaxed. He didn’t look all that much different than when he’d been fast asleep, Ian mused, except of course now his ass was still lifted high off the bed – and _oh my god_ that ass. _MY ass_.

Ian fixed his eyes on where they were still connected and watched as he slowly pulled out. Mickey whimpered softly and then shuttered as Ian spread his checks and rubbed the pad of his thumb over his sensitive rim, coaxing Mickey’s muscles to relax and release his cum. He watched as his sticky seed slowly dripped out of Mickey’s spent hole and then ran his thumb down Mickey’s perineum to catch it. He felt a bit like a man possessed as his eyes again sought out the red brand he had left on Mickey’s skin and brought his thumb to it, drawing an “X” with his warm cum. He admired his work for a moment but found he still wasn’t completely satisfied by it. He considered the problem and then bent slowly, bringing his mouth down to where “X” marked the spot and biting hard, leaving a more permanent sign of his claim for when the hot imprint of his hand faded.

Mickey turned his face into the mattress and groaned out a muffled “ _fuck_ ,” dropping his knees and letting his hips fall to the bed, apparently still too strung out to care that he was lying in his own large, sticky wet spot. Ian followed his ass down, licking gently at the bite, soothing with his tongue and lips, tasting himself mixed with Mickey’s sweat, tasting Mickey. He licked and lapped and blew lightly at the skin that he had marked, and in a whispered breath uttered a single word:

“Mine.”

Mickey let out a breathy chuckle as he reached above his head for a pillow and brought it back down beneath him, getting comfortable. “Fuck, Gallagher. You’re such a creep sometimes.” His eyes were still closed but a sated smile was playing across his lips.

“Yeah, but I’m your creep,” Ian answered confidently. He straightened up on his knees and dragged his pants back up, tucking himself in but not bothering to zip up. He gave Mickey’s red cheek a squeeze and final love tap, then flopped down next to him.

Mickey’s eyebrows rose up in surprise and his eyes blinked open a second later. “Don’t you gotta go?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

“Hmm?” Ian’s eyes were studying Mickey’s bottom lip. It was a bit red and puffy and he could just make out the little indentations made by Mickey’s teeth when he bi– “Oh shit!”

**7:02**

Ian sprung off the bed like the mattress was on fire. “Shit, Mickey! Fuck!”

Mickey’s back was shaking with silent laughter but he made an effort to reach over the side of the bed and grab Ian’s shirt, tossing it to him as he tore around the room like a hurricane.

“Yeah, thanks you fucking dick!” Ian quickly shrugged into it but didn’t stop to button it up, just bent to retrieve his keys from the floor while his other hand tried (and failed) to fasten his pants. “Jesus Christ, Sue is gonna be so pissed. This can’t keep fucking happening, Mickey! Shit… Just fucking lucky she hasn’t reported me to Rita yet…” Ian kept up his constant stream of grievances and cursing as he moved to the bedroom door and wrenched it open.

“Hey–“

Mickey’s voice calling out to him from the bed stopped him in his tracks. Again.

He turned and could only imagine how ridiculous he looked. Hair mussed up and wild, shirt open and hanging off one shoulder, his keys and belt in one hand, the other still holding up his unfastened pants. But Mickey wasn’t laughing anymore. His expression was soft and sweet and just a touch vulnerable.

“I love you.”

All at once it felt like all the panicked, frenetic energy buzzing through Ian’s entire body was sucked right out of him. He moved swiftly around the side of the bed and dropped to one knee, letting go of his pants and bringing his hand up to cup Mickey’s face.

“Love you too, asshole,” he whispered, bringing their lips together and kissing his husband deeply.

**7:03**

What was one more fucking minute anyway?


	2. Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian realizes it’s been a while since he worshiped Mickey's body the way it deserves.
> 
> A snapshot from the Instagram accounts of [@orange.army.boy](https://instagram.com/orange.army.boy?utm_source=ig_profile_share&igshid=h4cc8sv2knja) and [@fucking.milkovich](https://instagram.com/fucking.milkovich?utm_source=ig_profile_share&igshid=1s661gragifmg%E2%80%9D)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/163025614@N07/43964950591/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 

It was already after eight and nearly dark when Ian returned home, sweaty and breathing hard, to find his husband laid out on the couch exactly where he’d left him over an hour earlier. Exactly where he’d found him an hour before that, when he’d first gotten home from work. Ian paused a moment to catch his breath and simply take in the sight. (Time and proximity had done very little to dull the feeling that bubbled in Ian’s gut any time he got the chance to just _stare_ at Mickey unnoticed.)

He was still shirtless, an arm crooked behind his head and eyes fixed on the TV, one knee up and the other spread wide on the couch, creamy white thighs only partially covered by his favorite pair of blue mesh shorts. The only indication that time had not, in fact, stood still while Ian was out for his run, was that it looked like Mickey had moved on from the third Die Hard movie to the fourth, and he was now balancing a near empty plate of pizza bagels on his stomach. Ian’s mouth hitched at both corners as his eyes followed the trail of crumbs that led up from the plate and across Mickey’s bare chest.

Eventually he shook himself from his voyeuristic haze and walked to the kitchen, slumping against the counter and draining the last of his water. Running after responding to calls all day on the rig always seemed so much more like a chore. Ian much preferred getting his workout in first thing in the morning, after Mickey had held him through the lithium shakes, but before he had to squeeze his feet into his shitty work shoes for the next eight or ten or twelve hours. Still, sometimes it was worth the sacrifice.

Ian thought back to earlier that morning when he’d woken to Mickey curled up around him. To Mickey spread out on his stomach. To three tattooed fingers knuckle deep in that perfect ass. Low, gravelly voice teasing Ian mercilessly. Begging. _“Need your help, baby.”_

Ian’s dick jerked at the memory.

He ditched his water bottle next to the sink and wandered back into the living room, mind already racing ahead and conjuring up images of Mickey bent over in the shower, back arched, water running down fast between the sharp slopes of his shoulders until it slowed at the deep dimples just above his ass.

Ian’s lips pulled back from his teeth into a predatory grin that was downright feral.

“I’m back,” he said unnecessarily, pulling off his sticky shirt and leaning over to place both hands on the arm rest near Mickey’s feet, biceps and sweaty pecs on full display.

Mickey’s only response was a distracted murmur of acknowledgment. His eyes didn’t stray from the movie he was watching.

Undeterred, Ian pushed up off the arm rest and moved until he was standing between the couch and the coffee table, partially blocking Mickey’s view of the TV.

“Gonna take a shower,” he tried again, placing a suggestive hand on Mickey’s raised knee.

His husband’s lazy eyes flickered up just briefly before he shifted the arm propping up his neck and moved his head until he could see around Ian’s body.

“M’kay.”

A bright explosion on screen briefly lit up Ian’s pale skin, throwing the defined cut of his abs into sharp relief, but Mickey’s glazed over eyes didn’t look his way again.

“You wanna maybe…” Ian trailed off, starting to run feather light fingers down toward the sensitive skin of Mickey’s exposed inner thigh.

Mickey dropped his leg so it was stretched out straight on the couch and out of reach of Ian’s wandering touch. “Movie,” he grunted, with just the barest nod of his head toward their not quite legally acquired flat screen. ( _“Iggy’s stripper ex-girlfriend’s second cousin’s friend drives trucks for Best Buy. It’ll be fine, Mother Teresa. Don’t’ get your fucking panties in a bunch.”_)

Ian huffed in annoyance and reached out his rejected hand to pinch the last pizza bagel off Mickey’s plate. That at least earned him an indignant “hey, fucker!”, but still wasn’t enough to seriously divert Mickey’s attention away from Bruce’s dirty white wife beater and oversized guns.

The bite sized snack was cold and pretty charred on the bottom, but Ian popped it in his mouth anyway, chewing loudly in that way that drove Mickey nuts, and headed off to shower alone.

* * *

Ian ended up taking his time in the bathroom, letting the hot water sooth his muscles and still thankful, even after nearly two years in their own place, that he could take moments like this without having to worry that one of his siblings, or a hoard of angry Russian prostitutes, or fucking Frank was about to barge in or start banging on the door for him to hurry the fuck up.

When he finally made his way back to the living room, clad simply in a pair of old, comfortable sweats, he was entirely unsurprised to find Mickey exactly as he’d left him. Ian rolled his eyes when he stopped to pick up the empty plate off Mickey’s stomach, but couldn’t help the soft smile that played across his lips all the same.

“Hey Mick, you need a beer?” he called out from the kitchen a minute later.

Ian didn’t need to wait for Mickey’s grunt of affirmation; he was already grabbing a bottle for each of them, plus a couple extra so he wouldn’t have to get back up for a while. God knows Mickey wouldn’t.

He kicked the refrigerator door shut with his foot and carefully weaved his way around Katniss and Mo who were circling his legs like vultures. “Did you feed these beasts?” he asked, kneeing at Mickey’s feet so that he’d lift them up and Ian could take a seat underneath.

Another grunt, same as before. _Yes_.

Ian handed Mickey his beer, earning him yet another mumbled grunt – _thank you_ , this time – and placed the extras on the coffee table so he could settle in. He popped the cap and took a swig of his own Bud and rubbed idly at Mickey’s foot with his free hand as he tried to pick up the plot of the movie, now more than half over. He quickly realized that it was actually the fifth in the Die Hard series, his least favorite, and after what felt like a solid twenty minutes of truly concentrated effort on his part (but in reality was barely even five), Ian felt his attention drifting. 

He glanced over at Mickey, admiring the contour of his lips as they wrapped around his bottle of beer, a flash of desire hitting Ian square in the gut from the way Mickey’s throat worked as he took a sip and swallowed it down. He was fucking gorgeous. So completely sexy in a way that Ian didn’t even understand, that he’d never seen on anyone else, and all without even trying.

Ian quickly turned away, not wanting his husband to take the piss out of him for being “a fucking creep,” but only a short while later he found himself compelled to look again, as if the matter was completely outside his control. Maybe it was.

This time Ian focused on the barest hint of stubble peppering Mickey’s jaw and the slow, steady pulse in his neck. A minute later, the rise and fall of Mickey’s chest, and the exact shape of his nipples when they were all soft and puffy like they were then. Thirty seconds after that, the trail of coarse, dark hair that started just below his belly button and all too soon disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts.

When he eventually came to realize that his eyes had been flickering back and forth like some sort of deranged wind-up toy – from the TV to the slight curve of Mickey’s dick just visible beneath that thin layer of navy blue mesh, over and over and over _Jesus Christ!_ – Ian finally gave up watching the movie. He decided he’d much rather watch Mickey. Hell, he’d much rather be touching Mickey. All over. 

 _Fuck_ , when was the last time he’d really worshipped Mickey’s body? Ian couldn’t remember. Sure, by one means or another they usually found a way to fool around nearly every day, multiple times a day when they could. Hell, just that morning Ian had been so eager to push inside of Mickey he later realized he had ripped the button right off his work pants and had to beg Sue for a hairpin when he got to the station to help keep them closed. No way he’d be hearing the end of that anytime soon.

But when was the last time Ian had really worshipped Mickey, taken his time, really covered every inch of his body with attention? Given him everything he deserved? _Too long_ , he quickly determined. _It’s been too long_.

Decision made, Ian leaned forward to put his beer down on the coffee table, freeing both his hands so that he could focus on Mickey. He started by massaging his right foot, fingers coming up to flex and curl and rub between Mickey’s toes every so often before trailing back down and moving in circles around the ball of his foot. Still Mickey’s eyes didn’t leave the TV, but when Ian dug in and then dragged his thumbs up and down his arch the brunet made a low, drawn out sound around his swig of beer. His way of saying it felt good, but for Ian it wasn’t enough. Ian needed to hear him actually say it.

“You like this?” he asked softly, switching from Mickey’s right foot to his left and going through the same process.

A simple “yeah” was his husband’s only response. His mind was obviously still focused on whatever phony heroics were happening on screen, and Ian couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to get Mickey’s full attention on how good he wanted to make him feel, and away from this fucking movie marathon he’d invested his whole day in. Ian had never realized before that Mickey had such a huge goddamn hard on for Bruce fucking Willis.

The jealous redhead began doubling his efforts, rubbing his hands up Mickey’s legs and kneading his tight calves with conviction. It was not long before he was rewarded for his selfless work.

“Feels good, Gallagher.”

Ian practically preened from the unsolicited praise, but when he looked up from his task it was to find Mickey still eyeing the TV, taking another long swig of his beer. _Fucking king of his castle, this one._ But Ian knew he was starting to draw his attention and it would be only a matter of time before he broke through Mickey’s day-long couch coma.

Ian slowly kneaded on upwards, getting to Mickey’s lower thighs and moving his hands slowly under the edge of his mesh shorts. Ian knew he had nothing on underneath, knew that Mickey liked the way the fabric hung loose and smooth against his bare skin. They were what he preferred wearing when he lounged around the apartment during the hottest days of the summer (and for that week or so in the dead of winter when the radiator would inevitably crap out), and Ian appreciated the easy access they gave him in moments like this. There was also something about seeing Mickey get hard in a pair of shorts that already left so little to the imagination…

Well that did it. Ian couldn’t wait any longer to see in front of him the picture his mind was already piecing together from memory.

He lifted Mickey’s legs up off his lap so he could face his whole body toward him, getting on his knees on the couch and placing Mickey’s feet up on his shoulders. That got Mickey’s attention and he turned from the TV with a smirk.

“Gallagher, exactly what the fuck are ya doin’?”

“What?” Ian looked at him innocently and turned his face to lick lightly and nip at Mickey’s ankle.

“I’m tryna watch the end of this,” he groused.

Ian continued to look at Mickey, all wide eyed and innocent, before turning his head to the left to do the same to Mickey’s other foot, relishing the taste of Mickey’s skin, teeth dragging deliberately across his ankle. “Don’t let me interrupt. Keep watching if you want.”

“Fuckin’ will,” he huffed under this breath, and turned his head away to continue watching the movie. But Ian was paying attention. He didn’t miss the way Mickey’s voice hitched just slightly when he spoke.

Ian snickered and continued to tease Mickey’s ankles and feet with light licks and soft kisses while starting to rub a firm hand up and down Mickey’s legs and thighs, his fingers just grazing beneath the hem of Mickey’s shorts on every pass. Each time Ian’s hand would make its way up his legs he noticed the twitch in Mickey’s shorts and could see him slowly growing harder. God, he was easy.

Ian placed a final soft, lingering kiss on the sole of each of Mickey’s feet and then lowered them back down on the couch to either side of him. Ian couldn’t hide his smile when Mickey immediately turned to look at him again.

“What’re ya doing?” he asked a second time, breathier than before. Ian knew he was no longer upset about the interruption to his movie but rather the thought that Ian might stop was he was doing.

He shifted on his knees and edged even closer to Mickey’s body, still rubbing both hands up and down Mickey’s legs and thighs, but pushing them open a little wider so he could fit comfortably in between.

“Nothing,” Ian murmured, but voice heavy with promise as he dropped his head and held it just above Mickey’s crotch, green eyes locked on blue. “Just keep watching your movie, Mick.”

And with that, Ian didn’t wait to see if he did or not, desperate as he now was to breathe Mickey in deep. He broke their gaze and began nosing at Mickey’s hardness through the mesh of the shorts, then slipped his hands up under their hem and brought them around and underneath so he could cup Mickey’s ass and lift him up a little to meet his nose. Ian let the tips of his fingers grip and massage at Mickey’s plump cheeks and buried his face deeper, following the crease that led down Mickey’s inner left thigh and nosing around his sac and back up the other side. He followed the same path a second time, and then a third, mouthing over Mickey’s balls and trailing hot, breathy kisses along his thighs, avoiding Mickey’s cock until the temptation became too great. Ian brought his lips to Mickey’s mesh covered member and began mouthing at the tip.

Ian heard Mickey hiss sharply through his teeth and a second later felt Mickey’s hand combing through his hair and grasping the back of his head. Ian smiled around Mickey, running his teeth gently up and down the head of his cock until he felt the slight pressure from Mickey’s hand, pushing him down. 

 _More_. Mickey wanted more. And Ian would happily give it to him. He wanted to give him everything.

Mickey was slowly arching his back like a lazy cat to bring himself closer to Ian, but the redhead was already pulling away, slipping his hands out from Mickey’s shorts and sitting back on his heels so he could admire, for just a minute, that sight he had been so desperate to see: Mickey’s rock hard cock tenting the front of his shorts, the outline of its swollen head perfectly obvious through that thin blue material.

 _Fuck_.

Ian needed a second to adjust his own painfully hard wood inside his sweatpants, so he almost didn’t catch Mickey when he tried to slip a tattooed hand down to palm himself.  

“Mick, no!” Ian’s own hand darted out to grab Mickey’s wrist. “Let me do this for you,” he said more softly.

Mickey furrowed his brow and tried to free himself from Ian’s grip. “What are yo–“

Ian cut him off before he could finish. “Mick, I’m serious. I want to do everything for you right now.” He brought Mickey’s hand up to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the inside of his wrist before bringing it back down to rest at Mickey’s side. “All attention on you.”

Mickey squirmed a little, looking like he wanted to complain, but then Ian’s hands were back on him, reassuring, and he felt Mickey practically melt into his touch. Ian ran strong hands up his soft inner thighs and back down the outsides of his legs. Over and over, thumbs just brushing along Mickey’s stiff cock. Eyes never leaving Mickey’s.

“Let me do this, Mick. Wanna show you how good you are for me.” Ian brought a hand between Mickey’s legs and used his long index finger to rub over his shorts along his perineum, hand cupping his balls. “Wanna be so good for you.”

Not letting him answer, Ian bent back over and continued as before, rubbing his hands up Mickey’s milky thighs, dragging blunted fingernails along his sensitive skin, palming him through his shorts, angling his head to run his lips up the side of his hardness. He mouthed it softly, kissed the tip. Nuzzled with his nose. Brushed parted lips up and back down the length of it.

He kept this up, encouraged by Mickey’s labored breathing and the occasional whine he let slip past his lips, until finally, _finally_ , Ian let his hand feather up and back under Mickey’s shorts, massaging his balls, skin to skin, wrapping long fingers around his cock and giving it a few lazy tugs, rubbing his thumb over the slit, feeling the wetness that was forming there.

 _God_ , he needed to see it. He needed those fucking shorts off yesterday.

In one quick, fluid motion, Ian freed his hand and grabbed at Mickey’s waistband, sitting back on his haunches again and bringing the shorts down with him, letting his eyes never waiver as he watched Mickey’s straining cock first catch and then spring free from the cursed material and fall back against his stomach. Ian might have been embarrassed by the appreciative groan that tore from his throat if he wasn’t already so turned on and more concerned about the fact that it felt like he might jizz in his pants any minute.

He unconsciously licked his lips as he liberated first one and then the other of Mickey’s legs and tossed the shorts somewhere behind the couch. Ian’s eyes were soaking in everything in front of him. Mickey stretched out, hooded gaze watching to see what Ian would do next, chest slightly flushed and nipples pointed, even though Ian hadn’t come anywhere near them yet. Perfect cock, hard and red and dripping, waiting to be touched.

But Ian didn’t want to touch, not yet. There was something else he was hungry for. Something he was desperate to do for Mickey. But when his eyes focused in on the bead of precum pooling just below Mickey’s navel his restraint snapped, just for a second, and he leaned forward to lap it up, eyes fluttering closed as Mickey’s salty taste hit his tongue.

“ _Fuck_ , Ian.”

It sounded like an invocation.

Ian moved quickly then, gently forcing Mickey’s legs further apart, pressing his knees back toward his chest, opening him up. He had a hand braced on each of Mickey’s inner thighs, fingers splayed and pushing his legs just a little wider, thumbs lightly brushing against the outer rim of that muscle that looked so tight, but so inviting. Mickey seemed to respond involuntarily to every light stroke of Ian’s thumbs, clenching and releasing while his legs began to tremble. Ian brought a soothing hand down to stroke Mickey’s right thigh and moved in to lick around the tight ring of muscle. Mickey immediately gasped and then let out a high, drawn out whine that Ian could only ever pull from him when he did this. It was almost animalistic in nature, primal, and the sound reverberated through Ian’s entire being every single time, shot through his limbs like a jolt of electricity headed straight for his dick.

Ian was throbbing almost painfully in his pants but he couldn’t help but smile. To be able to bring Mickey to this point, to have him panting on the couch before Ian had even really _done_ anything, was a serious boost to Ian’s sometimes delicate ego. But it was so much more than that. Ian knew that if their roles were reversed Mickey would just as easily be able to make him feel just as good, probably from having done a whole lot less. Hell, Ian had gotten fucking keyed up just from _looking_ at Mickey. It made him realize for about the thousandth time just how perfect he and Mickey were for one another. How well they balanced each other out. That this sort of chemistry, their connection, was something special.

And _god_ , when Mickey was this uninhibited, this open and accepting and free – Ian’s smile grew – well, he was fucking beautiful.

Ian continued to lick and suck wetly around Mickey’s hole, and when he pulled back and blew softly on the wetness for added effect Mickey’s whole body shuddered as he moaned.

 _“_ Fuck Ian _, please_.”

 _More_. He wanted more.

Ian brought both hands back down to where his attention was focused and spread Mickey open, teasing around his hole and watching in fascination as Mickey relaxed and just the tip of a thumb disappeared inside him.

“Oh my fuck– … _oh god_ …fucking…” Mickey was babbling a string of nonsense, one hand gripping the back of the couch and the other clutching uselessly at his side, his bottle of beer long since forgotten and tipped over on the carpet.

“Shhh,” Ian soothed. “I got you, baby.” He could get away with the endearment when Mickey was like this. Though, Mickey probably actually fucking loved it by the way his body would react whenever Ian let the word fall from his lips.

Ian brought his mouth back against Mickey’s hole and lightly licked his way inside, letting his tongue and thumb work together to open him up. When he was satisfied, he let his thumb slip free and used his hands to keep Mickey’s ass pressed tight against his face. He twisted and rolled his tongue, feeling Mickey’s body move with each turn, the taste of Mickey heady and strong and _perfect_.

Ian could feel spit collecting on his chin as he pointed his tongue and started to thrust it in and out. He knew he was being messy and maybe a little unrefined in his technique, but the way Mickey was clenching around him, his body trying to pull him in deeper, only spurred Ian on, made him work his tongue that much faster. And the noises Mickey was making – _fuck_ – they were downright sinful. Ian’s every sense was overloaded by him – Mickey’s taste, his scent, his feel – but above all it was the sounds he was making that were causing Ian’s head to cloud. He just knew that he wanted to keep hearing them, wanted Mickey to keep moving, keep feeling, keep taking everything he was giving him. Ian didn’t care about coming up for air. He would be happy doing just this, making Mickey come apart with just his tongue, making him cum all over himself while Ian had his face buried in his ass…

 _Fuck_.

Ian reluctantly backed off before his last ounce of control slipped away and he did something really embarrassing like blow in his pants. This was supposed to be all about Mickey, not about him getting off like some horny teenager.

He looked up at Mickey then which helped nothing at all. Chest heaving, lips parted, pupils fully blown and focused entirely on him. Ian groaned and fell back on his haunches, pulling away from Mickey completely.

“Fuck Gallagher, whaddya stopping for?” Mickey rocked his hips and ground his ass impatiently into the couch, aggravated at the loss of Ian’s touch.

Ian tried to tease him, even as he had to reach a hand inside his own sweats to tug sharply at his balls to bring him back from the edge. “What’s the matter, Mick? Thought you just wanted to watch your movie…”

The look Mickey gave him might have felled a weaker man, but Ian just chuckled and quickly climbed off the couch, grabbing Mickey’s hands and bringing him into a seated position before the growl that was building in his throat even had a chance to escape. He arranged Mickey so he was sitting with his back leaning comfortably against the couch and then knelt on the floor between his legs and looked up at him through thick lashes, hoping Mickey could see the fire in his eyes, feel it coming off of him in waves.

He placed his hands on Mickey’s knees and gave them a quick squeeze before running his fingers up his thighs and past his hips, once again avoiding Mickey’s cock. He then smoothed his hands up over Mickey’s abs and across his chest, rubbing his thumbs over Mickey’s sensitive nipples and causing the brunet to inhale sharply and pull his bottom lip into his mouth.

Ian smirked and let one hand trail to Mickey’s right shoulder, dropping to squeeze his bicep appreciatively and then continuing down his arm to rest back on Mickey’s thigh. Ian’s other hand, however, continued up, fingers spreading gently across Mickey’s throat and around to the side of his neck while his thumb hooked over Mickey’s chin and traced back and forth along the seam of his mouth until Mickey released his abused lip from between his teeth with a sigh. But when Mickey then made to pull Ian’s thumb into his mouth Ian drew his hand away, and with a sly smile brought two fingers to his own mouth, hallowing his cheeks and sucking on them slowly.

Mickey’s eyes seemed to get impossibly darker as he watched Ian move his fingers in and out of his mouth at a torturous pace. He licked his lips, getting them as wet as Ian was getting his fingers, and nodded slowly, encouragingly, and gave Ian a low, husky hum. “Whaddya gonna do with those, Gallagher?” He sounded utterly wrecked.

Ian’s lips made an obscene sound as he pulled his fingers from his mouth. “Think you know exactly what I’m going to do, Mickey. Gonna make you feel real good.”

“Ye-yeah?” Mickey shuddered and bit his lip again as Ian squeezed his hand beneath Mickey’s ass and ran the tips of his wet fingers across his hole. “Oh fuck, _yes_ …want you to. Wanna feel you. Want– _oh_ _god_ , wanna feel your fingers reach inside, reach that spot.” Mickey had his head thrown back against the couch, eyes squeezed closed and head nodding again in anticipation, so when his eyes suddenly fluttered back opened and locked with Ian’s his next words hit the redhead like a freight train. “Wanna feel you, Gallagher. Want you to make me cum.”

“Fuck _, Mickey_.” Ian could only breathe his name like a prayer. He had no idea when Mickey had taken control of the show, maybe he’d been dictating things from the very start – Ian didn’t fucking care. He only wanted to give Mickey everything he ever needed.

Without another word he hooked his arms under Mickey’s knees and pulled him forward on the couch so his ass was just hanging off the edge, then pushed back against his thighs to spread Mickey open. He automatically sought out the mark he’d made on Mickey’s ass that morning and felt a shiver run though him when he saw the perfect ring of marks his teeth had left on Mickey’s pale cheek. Tearing his eyes away, he kept one hand gripped tight on Mickey’s leg and lowered his head to spit directly on his puckered hole, sliding two fingers all the way in without hesitation.

Mickey groaned deeply and Ian once again had to will his dick to settle the fuck down. He briefly considered rutting against the couch just to get some relief but _no_ , _this wasn’t about him!_ So he tried to ignore how his cock was now leaking steadily against the material of his sweats and refocused all of his attention on his husband. His fucking _husband_. Ian barely bit back his moan.

He wanted to give Mickey a second to adjust to having his fingers buried deep in his ass, but he should have known better. For as long as Ian had known him, Mickey had never really been all that big on waiting.

“C’mon, Gallagher,” he huffed. “Fucking killing me here.”

Staring up into Mickey’s flushed face, Ian starting pumping his fingers in and out of his tight hole, slowly at first, but soon building up to a steady tempo that had Mickey trying to move his hips along with it. Mickey tilted his face up and breathed out a curse at the ceiling, but it seemed that neither could keep their eyes off the other for very long. He soon dropped his head back down, eyes almost wild as they searched out Ian’s. Then heat, fire, want, need. And maybe something a shade darker. Something Ian was sure that in that moment Mickey saw reflected back in his eyes as well. He had no name for it, no real way to describe it, but that same word he had found himself saying earlier that morning seemed to crawl up out of the most primordial part of Ian’s brain of its own volition.

_Mine._

Ian continued to pump his fingers into Mickey and maintained their heated gaze when he dipped his head down to lick around his rim. Mickey instinctively clenched around Ian’s fingers, but as soon as he relaxed Ian stiffened his tongue and worked it in alongside them.

"Oh, _fuck yeah_ …fu-fucking feels good… _fuck_ , so good…”

Ian freed his other hand from behind Mickey’s knee, letting his leg bend over his shoulder and rest on his back, then ran his fingers up Mickey’s chest until he found a nipple, pinching and rubbing and rolling the hard nub between his thumb and index finger.

“Ian…please… _fuck please_ …I need more. Need to– need you to touch it...”

Mickey was completely out of breath and his legs were starting to tremble again. Ian slipped his tongue out of Mickey’s ass at the same time he released his nipple, eliciting from him a sharp whine of protest, but Ian ignored it and slowly licked up his perineum while letting his hand trail back down Mickey’s chest. He moved his tongue over Mickey’s balls, pausing just long enough to suck each one into his mouth, then continued up the underside of his cock while his hand came to rest at its base, forcing it up off Mickey’s stomach to point straight up in the air. He flicked his tongue once and then twice over Mickey’s frenulum, and then finally, _finally_ , wrapped his fingers around the base of Mickey’s cock at the same time his lips wrapped tightly around its swollen head. Ian’s eyes had still not left Mickey’s face so he was able to watch as the brunet practically sobbed with relief.

Ian didn’t wait this time for Mickey to tell him to get going. He immediately started sucking at the tip, running his tongue through Mickey’s slit and then bobbing his head up and down his length, shallowly at first but taking more of Mickey’s throbbing cock into his mouth each time. And whatever Ian couldn’t fit he made up for with his hand, stroking Mickey just shy of rough the way that he liked while pushing a third digit deep into his ass. He started spreading and twisting his fingers, searching out that sensitive spot within Mickey like a heat seeking missile. When he hit his target Mickey’s whole body spasmed and he cried out Ian’s name with a hoarse shout.

Ian didn’t let up, continuing to work Mickey from all angles and being sure to hit his prostate with every other thrust of his fingers. Mickey was becoming like jello beneath him and Ian could tell he was getting close by the way the muscles in his stomach were contracting and his hands were grasping desperately at the cushions of the couch. Ian knew what Mickey wanted and without stopping what he was doing tried to convey with his eyes and a slight nod of his head that it was okay. Mickey groaned low and bit down on his lip and that was the last thing Ian saw; he brought both his hands to Ian’s head and gripped his hair tight, pushing and pulling Ian up and down his cock at a faster pace.

And Ian took it all in stride. He took all of it. He wanted to. He wanted Mickey to know this was all for him. Always.

Ian stilled the hand that had been working in tandem with his mouth and let it rest on Mickey’s stomach, focusing on his fingers still fucking into Mickey’s ass and controlling his gag reflex as Mickey fucked down his throat. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. Everything moving and happening at once. It was frantic. It was sloppy. It was _perfect_.

Then suddenly Ian felt a sharp tug on his hair and Mickey was gasping brokenly.

“Fuck I’m– fuck Ian…fuck, fuck…I’m gonna cum…” With a final grunt and a low, husky curse, Mickey’s body spasmed a final time and he came long and hard in Ian’s mouth. Ian worked his throat and took it all, relishing the thickness, the saltiness, the perfection of Mickey’s taste.

He felt Mickey’s hands loosen on the back of his head and then stroke gently through his hair a few times before dropping boneless to his sides. Ian gently pulled his fingers from Mickey’s ass and gave his cock a final few licks, making sure he got every last drop of Mickey’s cum before he pulled off with a pop. He returned Mickey’s feet to the floor and then sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with his thumb and index finger, and then once again rubbing both hands up and down Mickey’s legs, fixing him with a soft look. Mickey’s own eyes were closed as he sat catching his breath, but Ian watched as his mouth slowly hitched up in a bemused sort of smile and he puffed out a breathy little laugh.

“Christ Gallagher, that was something else.”

Ian rose up on his knees and leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of Mickey and bracketing him in against the couch.

“Mickey look at me.”

Mickey’s eyes flickered opened, and even though his pupils were still dilated, at this distance, with their faces only inches apart, Ian could see the dark ring of blue encircling them. “Mick…that was perfect. You’re perfect. Do you know that?”

A patch of pink that Ian knew Mickey would never acknowledge ( _“Milkoviches don’t fucking blush!”_ ) bloomed high on his cheeks and he looked off to the side. “Cut the shit, Gallagher.” And then as if he just remembered something he quickly turned back. “You want me to–” His head tilted down to indicate Ian’s hardon that was still straining to break free from his sweats and looked back at Ian with his eyebrows raised in question.

“No, Mick. I need _you_ ,” he said, bringing a thumb up to stroke along his cheekbone and letting his hand wrap around the side of his face, fingers coming to rest around his ear. “Need all of you, Mickey. Want to feel you all around me. When you’re ready. Unless…”

Whether he knew it or not Mickey was holding his breath. “Unless what?” he breathed out.

Ian used his hand to turn Mickey’s head toward the TV where the credits for Die Hard 5 were now rolling.

“Unless you want to go back and finish watching your movie,” Ian deadpanned.

Mickey turned back and held his gaze for several seconds before breaking into a wide smile and snorting incredulously.

“Fuck, no. C’mere.”

Ian laughed into Mickey’s mouth as their lips crashed together.

_Ian-1, Bruce Willis-0._


End file.
